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Mrs. Beabots made the trek—even if she had to dress in rain gear and galoshes.
    Sarah had given up trying to drive Mrs. Beabots to the grocery store, hairdresser or the post office. Mrs. Beabots was a walker. In her younger years, she used to ride a bike all over town and even out to the farms to buy whatever vegetables were in season. However, at seventy, Mrs. Beabots was told she had osteoporosis. She was warned that, should she ever take a spill on her bike, her injuries could be serious. Mrs. Beabots chose right then and there to walk. She bought a rolling grocery cart and hauled it up and down Main Street. What she couldn’t carry home, she had delivered.
    “You look very pretty today, Mrs. Beabots,” Sarah said with a smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this dress.”
    “It’s new. I got it at the Goodwill for a dollar. My guess is that the pink rosebuds and apple-green buttons aren’t quite the cup of tea for today’s fashionable types. But it suits me just fine. One should always wear flowered dresses in the spring and summer.” Mrs. Beabots nodded, more to herself than to Sarah. She glanced over at Sarah’s ice-blue silk skirt and double-breasted jacket. “You look lovely, as well, dearie,” she said.
    “Thanks.”
    Mrs. Beabots looked up at Sarah’s face, frowned and then focused her eyes on the sidewalk.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Well, if you must know, I don’t much like your lipstick shade.”
    “My what?” Sarah touched her finger to her lips reflexively.
    “Well, maybe that isn’t it, after all,” Mrs. Beabots retracted.
    “It’s not the lipstick?”
    “It’s you, dearie. I’m very worried about you.”
    “Why?”
    “You’re too young to look...well, careworn.”
    “I look...” Sarah felt the prick of tears at the corners of her eyes. She had no idea her sorrows and fears were this evident.
    Mrs. Beabots had always possessed a certain crafty wile. As sweet as she’d always been to Sarah, loving her like a grandmother, she had no qualms about delivering a sucker punch when she felt it necessary.
    Sarah was silent.
    Mrs. Beabots squeezed her arm. “I think you should take a vacation,” she said with conviction. “Always does a body good to get away from the office. Mr. Beabots often said those very words to me.”
    Sarah rolled her eyes heavenward. “How did you know?”
    “Know what, dearie?” Mrs. Beabots stopped dead in her tracks, and with more strength than Sarah believed the elderly woman to have, she yanked back on Sarah’s arm, causing her to stumble a bit. “You aren’t sick, are you? Real sick? Not like your mother, are you?” Mrs. Beabots asked, fear flinging itself through her words.
    Sarah patted her hand reassuringly. “No. No, I’m not sick at all. But something did happen on Friday that I haven’t told you.” Sarah paused and glanced up to see that they were nearly on the steps of St. Mark’s Church. “Apparently, my boss seems to feel the same way you do.”
    “She fired you?”
    “No, but she did give me a forced leave of absence. Essentially, I don’t have a job for the summer.” Sarah didn’t feel the tear escape her eye until it slid off the edge of her jaw. “I have no place to go every day. I won’t see my coworkers or have lunch with them. They’ll be too busy. But I won’t be busy, and I have to stay busy.”
    “Why?”
    The tear was joined by a legion of the same. “Because then I’ll have to listen to the emptiness in the house. Then I’ll have to think about the fact that I’m all alone.”
    Mrs. Beabots patted Sarah’s hand. “No, you aren’t, dear. You have me. You have lots of friends in Indian Lake. Don’t forget your aunt Emily and uncle George are here. They’re your family. You should talk to Emily. She’s always got good advice.”
    “You think I need advice?”
    “I think you need time to sort it all out. Sometimes, pumpkin, we all need to step back and think about what it is that we really want for